Stories from Beyond the Veil
by FredNeverDied
Summary: Sirius is reunited with a friend who died in the first war. During his time in Azkaban, he did a lot of thinking about her and now, on the first time they've seen each other in sixteen years, he's pulling a make-it-or-break-it move. Heaven!fic.
1. Sirius and Marlene

Stories From Beyond the Veil

_ "'It doesn't mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry,' said Hermione, her voice gentle. 'It means… you know… living beyond death. Living __**after**__ death.'" Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_

Sirius approached her softly, thinking that if his heart could still beat, it would be jumping around in his throat right now. Because there she was—Marlene McKinnon—curled up in an armchair chair with a blanket falling off her shoulders, fast asleep. James had told him that she hated watching the living world when things got tense. So she'd hidden up here to sleep away the anxiety of seeing a battle unfold, helpless to intervene. The Battle of the Ministry, they were calling it. Casualties: One, him of course. It was a stupid death, a careless one: killed by his own mad cousin and his body magic-ed away.

But no matter, so long as this wasn't some elaborate dream and he was _really_ about wake up Marley—_his_ _Marley!_—then could he really be blamed for being excited? Relieved? Joyful to be finally at rest and rejoined with two of his best friends, James and Lily; all those who had died in the previous war who as good as family to him, as well as the sleeping figure he neared?

_Mind back at task, Black._

Right, right. Well then, what _was_ he planning to do? Shake her shoulders gently? Call her name out? Put his hands over her eyes and yell boo? Sirius came to a pause, ten feet away from her.

He hadn't seen her since that last night when they'd all gathered together at the Order's headquarters and Lily had put on the Muggle music that she'd gotten them all into. That was the night Sirius had promised Marley the last dance. That was the night, just as he was walking over with two butterbeers and was about to start the conversation with her, that a Partonus arrived, saying that her home was being attacked. They'd raced to the McKinnon's. (She lived in the basement at her parents' home because once she'd graduated from school, a year before he did; she's been too wrapped up in Order business to find her own place. And most nights she just stayed at Headquarters where it was safer like all the younger members. ) But when the team arrived, the house was already a raging inferno and, strategically placed, Mr. and Mrs. McKinnon's damaged bodies were lying in heap on the front lawn.

Needless to say that headstrong, fearless, easily-angered Marlene pursued the devils that destroyed her family.

And then, two weeks after the incident, the Order found her—or, what was left of her at least—dumped at the sight of the Death Eater's next attack on a Muggle village. He never expected how much it would tear him apart, or how hard it was recover from grief. That was ten months since he'd joined the Order, nearly three years before the war would end; before everything would get progressively worse for him.

For it was during those _long_ years in Azkaban that he'd _finally_ figured out how much she meant to him. That was one of his best thoughts to hold on to, the memory of them being young, stupid, and happy together, their heads so far up in their dumb arses they would never have realized they were meant for each other. Of course, it was the one the Dementors had tried the hardest to…he shook his head. Nah, it was best not to think about it. Suffice to say it had been fifteen long, _long_ years.

So Sirius, just as he decided on the "boo!" idea, started forward and, inevitably, the floor squeaked.

And his breath hitched when she turned to look at him.

It was Marley alright. Long, tangled, chestnut curls, full pink lips, and the odd way she leaned backwards but kept her spine straight and rested her chin on her chest. And those flashing blue eyes that were usually narrowed in sarcasm, eyebrows that had so often arched into her "_damn straight_…" face. But now her eyebrows were raised into her hairline out of surprise and her jaw had gone slack.

"_You_…" she breathed. Sirius smiled and decided on a completely different idea: Bring back their old inside joke.

"Marry," he said, "I have done thy heart a grievous wound, prithee forgive me or I shall punish my back a thousand days." Her eyes widened as her ears confirmed it was him and her bottom lip trembled a little.

"Dost thy brow lighten to learn I suffered every heart beat I was away?" he asked softly.

Marlene swallowed once and (this was the part that he in_exorably_ loved about her) she picked right up with it, despite the shock, despite probably being out of practice, and despite fifteen years of separation.

"And that would be what?" said she, "Prithee tell, good sir and don't delay about it. I won't have you going about this cryptic nonsense." Sirius felt his chest wrench at the sound of her voice but he leaned coolly against the wall, dropped the Shakespearian tongue, and said in a low voice,

"I didn't give you that last dance."

In an instant she was in his arms, her face buried against his neck, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, body pressing into his for stability and that awful, raw need. Sirius could only respond in kind.

"Hey Marls," he muttered into her hair.

"I missed you so much," she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. It was obvious she was trying to keep from sobbing—although the need to say that was in itself nigh on ludicrous—but it had been a _long_ fifteen years and even the strongest have their weak points.

"You too," he muttered again, wrapping his arms tighter around her waist and shoulders. He once used Ye Olde English to pick up girls but when it came to his own language his vocabulary was considerably lacking. Why couldn't he tell her all that he'd thought about her during his time in prison!? They were all grown up now—it shouldn't be a problem!

(It was when he'd first tried the olde, artful way of speaking on Marley, when she'd responded back flawlessly without a delay, that the gag between them had been born. That was when he knew this girl wasn't one-night-stand material and better than a pick-up line. She was better than that because she was a girl that didn't give her heart away and understood that he (at the time of course, _damn it_ why hadn't he figured this out sooner?!) didn't want it. She thought on her feet, had a wonderfully large appetite, could hold her liquor, enjoyed a practical joke, and (best of all) had a beautiful appreciation for motorcycles. They had had an easy, flirty, friends-with-benefits relationship that somehow made perfect sense. She was tricky, but still easy for him to understand—easier than any other woman actually. James always said it was just because she was just the female version of him but he'd come to realize it was something more special than that.)

"You just had to get reckless on Travers' ass didn't you?" he said after a moment. (He'd been really angry—beyond livid was a more fitting phrase, actually—when they had found her body. Angry at Voldemort, angry at the Death Eaters, angry at himself, but mostly angry with her for flying off in the first place; and _damn it_ she needed to know that, because that was the way he cared.) Marley, per usual, didn't miss a beat.

"Reckless? Like you can say otherwise about yourself, _fugitive_," she huffed affectionately. He had to nod: he'd brought that one on himself. It wasn't the first time she'd effortlessly one-upped him.

"True," he said, pushing her away slightly to examine her face. She looked him square in the eyes and her lips started twitching out of…humor? maybe regret? maybe the fear of a sudden flashback? He couldn't always read her; she still had her mysteries, but that only made being with her more worthwhile. Like spending time on a puzzle. He rubbed his thumb over her temple.

(Why hadn't he been able to protect her? Why hadn't he saved this smile, this quirky glare, the shifty eyes, and the joke that lived on the tip of her tongue? He could've spent _years_ with her—_decades_. He _should _have. He'd seen her racing to grab the nearest Death Eater's cloak at that battle, seen that livid look in her eyes. Furious, heart-broken, and full of hate for the men who had just murdered her parents. Regardless of how much she may deserve her vengeance, he knew she was going to get herself killed. _Merlin, no_; passed through his mind as he went after her to keep her from following them. (It never occurred to him to Stun her or Bind her. She would've hated him for months, maybe even years, but she would've been _alive_. And imagine how different things would have been.) But he wasn't able to stop her from Disapparating with them. Fifteen years he'd been kicking himself over that mistake. But at least she'd been comfortable the whole time, right?)

"How've you been?" he asked, really meaning it, really wanting to know that she'd been happy. The blue eyes narrowed in familiar sarcasm, her lips quirked up with amusement, the cock of her head was derision.

"I'm _dead_, Sirius."

_Duh, Black_.

"Beyond that?" he replied jovially. What he really wanted to know was along the lines of: "_When the hell did this become a casual conversation!?_" He _needed_ this woman. Needed to assure himself that he remembered her correctly. Feel her. Hold her. Kiss her. Have her. Have her like he did before the Order became a scary place where people said good-bye for the night like they were prepared it would be the _real_ good bye. And where members would pulled inside by many arms and met with many relieved faces to know they had all survived the night. A place where everyone in the room would jump at small noises. And where certain seats were left empty out respect for the dead (Marley's was four down to his left and everyday he would tip it forwards like she was still there and he was still trying to dump her out of her seat).

That was why she had been so important during the first war. Because she reminded him that there was still fun and excitement in the middle of depression. And because even _then_ he'd had a very vague idea that this was going to last longer than any war. So when she died, he hadn't known what to do with himself or what to do with the plans he hadn't even made for the two of them. So the real question was: what was he waiting for _now_!?

"I've been alright," she replied.

_Take your opening, Black!_

"Not _great_?" He asked. Marlene saw his motive in zero-point-two seconds.

"Not _great_, per say," she said, her eyes drifting down to his lips and up again.

_Fifteen years, Black!_

"Let me fix that for you."

He pulled her tighter to him, her head arched up to close the remaining distance, and their mouths met. Almost instantly, Sirius pushed her roughly against the wall and Marlene groaned slightly, clutching her fingers into his hair. She bit his bottom lip as he slid his hand up her shirt to her lower back, and she brought her ankle around his, wrapping their legs together. His mouth went down her neck, feverish kisses going with it and she groaned again, the grip in his hair tightening.

Perhaps five, perhaps five hundred, minutes later, Marlene pulled back, gasping for breath, her smile wide and eyes half-lidded. Sirius leaned in to nibble beneath her ear.

"But there's one more wound I must atone for, milady," he said, his voice coming out rough and heavy.

"What's that?" she asked, still panting and he could hear the expectant smile in her voice. Sirius brought his nose along her jaw line and kissed her lips once more before rolling his forehead against hers.

"I never told you how much I love you," he whispered.


	2. Announcement

Guys,

I am writing a story that is similar to this called Mirror, Mirror. The next chapter (Chapter 10) and onwards is going to be like a continuation of this, except that there is a different plot going on. But Sirius and Marlene will be involved, as will Harry's parents and the rest of the old Order.

Enjoy if you wanna!

~Freddie


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